Centuries Old
by dewdrop721
Summary: Ivan Braginski has fallen for Amelia F. Jones. The problem is that she believes he's cheating on her. And to make it even worse? The woman she thinks he's cheating with has been dead for a few centuries. Russia/Fem!America


Centuries Old

"I HATE YOU! You…you...you stupid sonofabitch! GET OUT!"

Ivan Braginski ducked as an arm chair came flying through the air and flew past him. More furniture and other items came flying through the air as well.

Cursing his large frame and height for making him such a good target, Ivan tried to stick his head from around the corner of the door, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'd have luck on his side this time rather than General Winter.

Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to calm down and to listen.

Maybe, just maybe, he could get her to cease her temper tantrum where her rage only increased her inhuman strength tenfold.

However…luck was not on his side.

Before he even had a chance to duck, America had wrapped her strong fingers around the sofa. Before he could even shut the front door good, it caved in due to the weight of an overly large couch being launched at it.

Ivan sighed as he began to push the heavy furniture and fragments of the ornate door off. He could feel the bits of wood and glass that surrounded him and he knew that he wouldn't be able to explain himself until her fury had calmed.

He hadn't meant for things to end this way…even his cold heart grew colder at the thought that this could be the end of what they had.

Pushing himself back to a sitting position, his tormented violet eyes gazed into stormy blue eyes and he could feel the negative emotions rolling of her slim frame in waves,

Her usual easy going smile filled with joy and humor had become a cold glare, looking upon him as if the giant nation was nothing more than a roach.

Her easy and jaunty gait and stance had become guarded.

"Podsolnechnik...Eto ne to, chto vy dumaete...",Russia began lapsing back to his native tongue as he rose back to towering over her. He held out a hand as if somehow it could stop the distance that seemed to be pushing them apart.

The fact that she looked at his hand as if it was a deadly and contagious disease did nothing to stop the pain in his heart.

"I don't understand much Russian, Mr. Braginski, so please feel free to speak English. After all, we are in America." The cool and clipped tone she used was so strange and foreign coming from her.

It was nothing like the excited voice she'd used as she'd dragged him down Broadway.

It was so far from the sweet voice she'd used as she was gazing up at the sky as if it held all the answers.

Russia's excuses fell silent as she glared at him daring him to speak. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a small square of canvas and looking down at it, Russia could swear he saw something in her break.

Amelia stood looking harder than she had before and Russia was reminded of how during war times he had seen America from far off and had known that she would be a formidable enemy for those who resisted her.

Holding out a large hand Russia realized that he had lost her.

The first person that he could've sworn loved him back in a few centuries and he'd chased her away.

Amel- no America began to turn around and Russia, watched as her baby blues seemed to soften in anguish.

Part of Russia wanted to hold her in his arms, wanted to tell his Podsolnechnik that he had never meant to cause her such pain. He had never meant to use her.

In a way his intentions had at first not been quite noble, but along the way he had grown to love the person she was.

He wanted to tell her that he had never really loved so freely and without consequence and that it was so foreign to his very nature.

There was a lot Ivan Braginski wanted to tell Amelia F. Jones, but she would have none of it. She shrugged away from his grasp and turning on her heel she sauntered back into her house and up the stairs towards her room.

After all, there was no privacy to be had here without her front door. Just bad memories and unpleasant company.

Ivan sighed and he forced his legs to carry him away. He had lost the battle this time and maybe even the war.

And the sad thing was that the woman Amelia believed he was cheating on her with?

She'd been dead for at least four centuries or more.

Ivan looked down at the small fragment of canvas into a face that seemed so hauntingly like the woman's he had just walked away from.

"Alena…what do I do?"


End file.
